


Forget Me Not (The Truths and Lies Remix)

by laireshi



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Avengers Vol. 5 (2013), Hurt No Comfort, M/M, the mindwipe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9815759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: Steve desperately wants to keep Tony alive and safe,unbroken, and with each day he thinks he’s closer to failing. But not today. Not yet.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Woad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woad/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Minutes to Midnight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8836666) by [Woad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woad/pseuds/Woad). 



> Thanks to magicasen and Comicsohwhyohwhy for beta!
> 
> This is a remix of Woad's great, angsty fic. You should all read it! It's a role reversal where Steve mindwipes Tony. It's _terrific_.

Something changes.

It’s not big, and if it was anyone else, Steve probably would’ve missed it—but as it is, it’s not just any random thing, or even a random person. It’s _Tony_. And something is definitely wrong with him.

( _Something_ , as if Steve hasn’t stabbed him in the back himself.)

But this _can’t be it._ Tony must never remember—and if he did, he’d be gone already, and Steve can’t bear the thought. There must be something else going on.

Steve’s worried. 

Tony looks rough. He still makes an effort to show up for breakfast, a long-standing Avengers tradition, even if these days only Steve and Tony keep to it. But most days, Tony seems ragged, with black rings under his eyes as if he didn’t sleep at all. Sometimes he’s just the contrary, though, wildly excited, still in the clothes from the day before, a clear sign he’s spent hours in the lab, having lost all sense of time.

Steve wonders how long it’s been going on. He wants to believe he noticed immediately—but who is he kidding? He’s spending too much time on clandestine talks with Namor, quick meetings with Reed, secret strategy planning with T’Challa. The signs could’ve been there for ages, and he’s only seeing them now.

He’s a terrible friend . . . but not for this reason, he thinks as he remembers Tony’s body hitting the floor, memories taken from him forever, and the last, _surprised_ look in his eyes.

Some things are obvious to Steve, here: Tony trusted him. He still does. He never should’ve.

_He can’t know._

“Did something happen, Steve?” Tony asks at breakfast one day.

Steve shakes his head. “No,” he lies. He always lies these days.

Tony nods, but his eyes are wild. “It’s just—the team _is_ the biggest one ever, and it _is_ working, and you—” Tony trails off, weirdly excited—or just the contrary. “You . . . Is it something I did?”

Steve forces himself to swallow. His heart is beating fast in his chest. He’s cold all over. 

Tony looks unlike himself, sweaty and manic—and not in the good way. Steve would be worried about alcohol, but in his experience, _that_ never made Tony _manic_ , the contrary. But there is another explanation for Tony’s erratic behaviour, one that Steve can’t even bear to think about.

 _Come on, Rogers, lie to your best friend’s face some more_ , he thinks. “You didn’t do anything,” Steve says. “I’m—I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. I’m tired, I can’t sleep—” He bites on his lips. “I have nightmares,” he admits. 

_Nightmares_. Sometimes, it’s just an incursion he can’t stop. These are almost familiar by now. But sometimes, it’s that older Tony, smiling at Steve, trusting the lie he’s just heard, blowing up his own world to keep Steve safe, to keep Steve’s fake happiness safe. And sometimes, and these are the worst of all, sometimes Tony remembers and forgives him and stops the next incursion himself, laying his humanity down—

Tony nods immediately now, though. “I get that,” he mutters. “I couldn’t sleep.”

That’s really, painfully obvious just from watching him. 

“Do you want to watch something together?” Steve offers, trying to find his footing again. They both have all the reasons not to sleep well. It’s—it’s not good, obviously, but insomnia is so much better than _Tony remembering_.

Steve desperately wants to keep Tony alive and safe, _unbroken_ , and with each day he thinks he’s closer to failing. But not today. Not yet.

Tony breaks into a smile that’s so fake it hurts. He never used to use it on Steve. “No,” he says, and it sounds like he hesitates. “—sorry, Winghead. I’m exhausted. I’d just fall asleep on you.”

Steve wouldn’t mind that, but he chastises himself almost immediately. 

It used to be easy. He loved Tony and Tony loved him, and they knew it and were _happy_. But whatever chance and dream of keeping that happiness Steve might’ve had, he buried it himself with three easy words, _Do it, Stephen_.

A sacrifice, but it was worth it. The only question is: was it enough?

“Oh,” Steve says aloud, and looks at Tony with honest hope. “Let me know when you feel like it, though? I miss you.”

He does. It’s his own fault, too, and Steve knows that. If Tony ever remembers, he’ll _never_ forgive Steve. Or maybe they’ll save the world and stop the incursions, and Steve will tell Tony and they’ll never see each other again.

Tony looks at him. If Steve didn’t know better, he’d say there was longing in his eyes. Then Tony nods. “Sure thing, Cap. I’m—I think I’m crashing, I’d better try to catch some sleep now.”

He turns and walks away almost immediately. 

Steve can’t help but think Tony was lying through his teeth this whole conversation—but then, so was Steve.

The only question is—what can Tony be hiding now?

If he—if he knew about the Illuminati, he’d confront Steve. So . . . Steve thinks of alcohol again and feels sick.

And then the Avengers alarm sounds, and he can’t think of anything but the fight.

***

In the battle, they work as well as always, deflecting hits meant for one another, pulling off complex manoeuvres like they were instinct, fighting back to back, with total trust in their partner.

Afterwards, though, Tony hurries away, and locks himself in his lab without a word.

He said he was crashing and needed sleep, mere hours ago. Adrenaline can only get you so far. 

But he doesn’t have to explain himself to Steve; not anymore. And Steve’s probably growing paranoid: waiting for his biggest nightmare to become reality.

***

Enough is enough.

Steve hasn’t seen Tony since the fight a few days ago and somehow he doubts Tony’s slept much. Coffee won’t help with that, but if Tony’s hell-bent on finishing a project, nothing would stop him anyway, and he’ll never refuse to let in someone carrying his so-called lifeblood.

It used to be, he’d never refuse to let _Steve_ in. And that hasn’t changed for Tony, but it has changed for Steve, and he doesn’t—doesn’t want that particular privilege of their friendship anymore. So he takes a giant mug of black coffee with him as he walks into the elevator and punches in the code for Tony’s lab. It works. Steve dreads the day it stops.

Tony stands when Steve enters. He’s white as a sheet, and his eyes look almost bruised. He looks Steve up and down, stops his eyes at the coffee in Steve’s hand.

“Coffee or poison this time?” he asks. It falls short of a joke. Steve can _see_ how tense he is.

 _No._ “Tony,” Steve says, trying for teasing, trying to save this, but it’s already too late, isn’t—

“I remember,” Tony tells him in an empty voice.

Steve _knew_ even before Tony said it—but hearing that? _He can’t breathe_.

“Remember what?” he asks, setting the coffee down before he could drop it; he’s not sure how he’s able to plan even that much right now.

Tony’s eyes are cold as ice. “Let’s not hold the idiot ball here, shall we?”

Steve swallows. He needs to say something, but _I’m sorry_ sounds fake even in his own head. Is he sorry? 

Yes.

But only that Tony remembered. 

Tony looks at him, infinitely sad, almost broken. “I have many questions, Steve,” he says quietly. “You will, I’m sure of it, try and lie in answer to every one of them. But you _owe_ me some honesty, so tell me, please, did you get what you wanted? Would you do it again?”

Steve knows the answer to both of these questions, even if he wishes he didn’t. But Tony’s right. He deserves honesty here.

“The incursions are still a problem,” Steve says.

Tony waits.

Steve swallows. “And as for you . . . I wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

Tony takes a step back as if hit. 

“New Year’s,” he says, just that, but it’s enough. Steve knows what he means.

“There was an incursion.” Steve thinks of that other, older Tony, and steels himself. “The other world—it was destroyed.”

“ _It was_ ,” Tony repeats. “Did you . . .” He doesn’t finish, as if he can’t bring himself to say it, as if he can’t accuse Steve of destroying a world.

Why? Steve had no trouble imagining Tony doing just that.

And then, of course, he witnessed it, in the form of an alternate Tony, but a Tony nevertheless. 

“No,” Steve says.

“ _Who_?” Tony asks, terribly still. 

“I don’t know,” Steve says.

“ _You liar_ ,” Tony says. 

Yes. Yes he is a liar. But he won’t tell Tony this one truth.

He won’t tell Tony how another version of him, slightly older, slightly sadder, asked Steve if he was happy, took the lie he was given, and blew up his own world.

He won’t tell Tony that yes, he would wipe his mind, over and over again, to spare him from making this decision. Sometimes it seems like Tony can barely live with himself as it is—and Steve’s not a futurist, but he is a good strategist, and he can’t see a scenario where Tony knows of the incursions and doesn’t end up killing himself, one way or another.

 _Steve won’t let him_. 

Tony looks down, wraps his arms around himself. He doesn’t even seem mad, just . . . resigned. It’s so wrong.

“So you still don’t trust me,” he whispers. “You should know that I’d do everything to keep you—to keep our world safe.”

“I know,” Steve says heavily. “That is the problem.”

Tony shakes his head. “If you trusted me,” Tony says, “we would be there, working on it, _together_.”

Steve freezes. 

_What else did Tony remember_? If the spell broke . . . 

“Tony,” Steve says. He can’t force himself to add anything else.

Tony’s posture changes, suddenly, he moves across the room in Steve’s direction. Steve forces himself to relax. If Tony wants to punch him, he damn well deserves it—

Tony kisses him.

He doesn’t hesitate, he’s not timid; like he knows Steve’s body, still, and Steve, Steve has never forgotten the feel of Tony’s mouth on his. 

“ _I love you_ ,” Tony says. “And you—what else was a lie?”

“Nothing,” Steve says, emptily. 

“You wouldn’t do that to a man you loved,” Tony says, completely certain of his words.

Steve can’t make it better. But maybe he can make it hurt less. Make the betrayal less personal instead of more.

“I never loved you,” Steve says. “Not really.” Each word is like a knife to his own heart, and Tony’s looking—

Steve can’t watch his face.

“It was fun while it lasted,” he continues, cruelly. “I used you, Stark. What, did you really think I could love you? Don’t make me laugh.”

Tony shakes his head slowly. “I always knew it was too good to be true,” he whispers, again only resigned instead of annoyed; it’s terrible, all of it is so _wrong_. Then Tony looks straight at Steve.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tony says. “It doesn’t matter whether you lied or no. It really doesn’t. I love you, Steve, and I probably always will. You can’t change that. And I _will_ save you.”

 _No_ , Steve thinks. _No_. This is just what he wanted to avoid. Tony should’ve—he should’ve started to hate Steve, he shouldn’t _care._ Steve just wanted to spare him. 

“You can’t—”

“There’s no hope,” Tony agrees in an empty voice. “I checked as much already. So I’ll find hope, Steve, because this is what I do; for the future, and for you _._ ”

He’s gone in the next second. Steve swirls around, but Tony’s not there, not anywhere in the workshop. 

Steve hadn’t known Tony had transmission mats installed here. He already knows he’ll never find him.

And what would he do, anyway? Fight him to stop him? He’s tried that once already. It didn’t work out.

There’s nothing left to salvage. Not between him and Tony. Not even their world.

(Eight months later, Tony saves them all, and doesn’t look at Steve once.)


End file.
